Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Holy shit, I need to not think about sad things at this precious hour. He’s asleep. We fucked like superstars. Everything is better than I hoped it could be.
Then it hits me—I never put a tie on the fucking door to signal a do not enter to Ben.
Great, great.
In my defense, I was totally in the moment and not thinking about my roommate situation. Then again, Ben knew Phoenix would be coming over tonight, so maybe he just crashed on the pull-out and didn’t attempt to enter.
I crawl out of bed to check on him.
Using my phone’s flashlight, I make a quiet search for my boxer-briefs on the floor. I slip them on and then peer behind the privacy curtain. Ben’s bed is made, blue-green quilt neatly tucked into the wooden frame.
Mister Feathers dozes off on his perch by the window, and the city glitters Ben’s side of the room. New York is beautiful tonight. Truly.
I backtrack to reach the door, passing my bed—Phoenix still asleep—and I make a quiet exit.
I’m louder heading to the darkened living room. Hoping Ben is awake so I can tell him tonight was the best night. Greatest. Worth the wait—not that I want to wait that long to see my boyfriend again. But I will.
“Ben Pirrip,” I whisper, about to scale the back of the couch and slide down onto the pull-out beside him.
I skid to a complete stop.
The pull-out mattress isn’t unfurled from the couch. No one is lying longways on the cushions. No extra blankets are out. No bed pillows anywhere. He didn’t sleep on the couch then. I check the time on my phone. 2 a.m.
He should be here.
He’s not allowed at Harriet’s dorm past 10 p.m.
It doesn’t hit me at first. Reality. My frown feels like a hundred pounds weighing me down. I turn on my feet. Like maybe he’s playing a prank and right behind me. But that wouldn’t even make sense. Ben doesn’t pull pranks, and there’s just emptiness and shadows as I spin around.
I intake a short breath and dial his number. Hand on my head, I breathe deeply. Once, twice—
“Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system.” I hear the mechanical response. I call him again and again while I check the entire apartment. I’m being sent straight to voicemail over and over and over.
Ben isn’t in a closet, a bathroom, under the sink—because my six-five hockey player brother hiding there is logical.
I wake up Eliot. I wake up Charlie. I wake up Beckett. Very thankful none of my brothers brought any girls home tonight.
“Have you called Harriet?” Beckett is pulling on cotton pants.
“I’ve tried. Eliot has tried,” I tell him, a knot forming in my ribcage. “She’s not answering.”
“She’s probably asleep,” Eliot theorizes.
Charlie jerks his arms through a V-neck sweater as he leaves. He’s going to check downstairs. The eighteenth floor. Ben is friends with Xander Hale. He could be in our cousin’s apartment.
Turns out, he’s not with the Hales.
Turns out, he’s missing.
My little brother is missing again. It slams into me like a freight train when I find Ben’s phone on the kitchen counter.
He left his phone behind. Just like he did when he left for Alaska. When he hoped to never be found. When he tried to save us from himself.
It’s happening again. I’m going to lose my brother.
I’ve already lost him.
He’s not here.
Bile scalds my throat, and the sensation of being punched in the chest has me heaving for air. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.
I hear my brothers on their phones like an echo in a faraway tunnel.
I’m wandering quietly back to my bedroom. Ben’s bedroom.
Our bedroom.
Phoenix is still sound asleep, and I quietly shift the privacy curtain along the track. And I reach Ben’s side of the room.
He’s gone. He’s really gone this time. My eyes burn as I rotate my head and see my tenderhearted little brother in everything.
His elephant ear plant has grown five feet tall since he’s been here. His hockey trophy sits on an Ecology textbook. His sticker-decaled water bottle, the blue one he brings everywhere, keeps his stuffed lion company on his nightstand.
I look up and go still at the sight of the oil painting. The Arcadian. Lush green hills, trees, people dancing—an earth uncorrupted by man.
I’m pummeled backward. My calves hit the frame of his bed.
And then big white wings come flying toward me from the window perch. Ben’s bird settles on my shoulder and head-butts my cheek. He shifts his little feet excitedly, and he chirps, “My home, my home, my home.”
Pain radiates through my chest, and my legs give out. I slide down the side of Ben’s bed, sitting on the floor, and I call out, “Ph…” I can’t breathe. “Phoenix.” I struggle for air.
But that’s all it takes to wake him.